[kimya dawson] birds of a black black feather stick together forever and ever and they always remember you and all of the sh-t you do they p-ss it to the baby birdies and then they remember too little baby bluebird’s eyes turn black without forgetting the face of the guy in the mask when you see me baby will you scream or will you laugh? little baby bluebird’s eyes turn black

[aesop rock] 4 and 20 gory pantone black crows shredding innards the silouettes are fencing lefty scissors separating h-rn and hoof as own arpeggiators they piggy back the tombs of all your deadest friends and neighbors by the getty image, green-cheese moon dead-of-winter sh-t, graveyard tchk! tchk! shifter sh-t, brother was a face card crown like a heart-shaped tunnel of woven branches leaning in over his hydro-plaining pace car chase… wait up let me isolate the b-ss more gate of god’s acre aim to rake the snow off each forsaken name here supposedly closure’l free the vipers out the bosom personally i think it’s a bunch of bullsh-t prisoners, tradition is for lovers god forbid he flip the witch against her coven on some ‘dip or play the dozens‘ now i baptize skips in larvae and dental records on a little plot pregnant with 6 million sentenceenders and the tech support for tragedy’s emphatically horrendous teenage operators explaining what bated breath is p-ss, i wish it were something i could diagram on a napkin so you won’t feel so detached if it should happen to you privately publicly your shadows’ll cat call back happy to split the b-tton eye and burlap doll crack the crypt bats eject like cousin death’s wing-ed iapdogs ricocheting sonar of the sacrilege now let me slow this whole sh-t down for all you half-goat cowards i’ll even grit my teeth for you i am so completely off the god-d-mn grid it’s not a question of addressing me, i t’s “what do these symbols under the dresser mean” perhaps a little dash of karma chameleons through the entropy for good/young could’ve used a good lung still, proximity to corpses wasn’t nothing to the kid but unforgiving science or cinematic horrors fast forward, my knee in the gut of a gl-ss “remember that cow in the dean’s seems awkward and i know your people donated pints to the same pavement but for ash and bone to share a sp-ce with strangers seems outrageous, ain’t it? maybe a dialog of howls that reshapes thejowls and face somehow relates to whatever you have found among a thousand cloned shrines, either way – dope stone lion

[kimya dawson] and they call to let you know your friend is dead in a box the crows have the tools to get the meat out of the box scientific, ritualistic, headstone cold foxes still rot i’m not gonna rot, no, f-ck that snot you can let them let you rot, man but i’m not going to watch i’m not gonna stand atop your plot i love you friend, but i’m just not on the other hand if your ashes are scattered in the sea i will swim in the sea and you’ll be with me and if your sh-t is scattered at the roots of a tree i will climb that tree

[aesop rock] everything you think you’re hiding shows in the way you view the graves like a string of tiny thrones messages you’d tucked away for keeps has resurfaced to be heard amidst the butchery and beaks you don’t want the p-ssengers to p-ss you want each cow taxidermy’d fatter than the last mausoleum lighting is a rush while it might enhance a silhouette it might expose a crutch a proud chest puffed to the heavens holds nothing if we’re cutting past the muscle and the tendon and we will be cutting past the muscle and the tendon…